Sloan just wanted to crawl back under the covers and sleep, right up against his naked assistant. Problem was, lunchtime had barely arrived.
“Check out the feature in the Sunday paper on the seventeenth,” the reporter threw back over her shoulder as she and the cameraman swept from the room.
Sloan could see his own weariness reflected back at him in Patrick. “Is it just me,” his friend asked, “or was that woman way too perky for anytime before lunch?”
A giggle slipped from Ziara’s lips, but she quickly went silent under Vivian’s disapproving gaze.
“Considering how quickly we’re trying to pull this together, we should be grateful for all the publicity we can get,” the stern matron said.
Ziara backed slowly away, disquiet leaking through the cracks of her professional facade. Patrick simply raised a brow and turned away, letting the comment slide over him like water off a raincoat.
“Ziara,” Sloan said, ready to get away from the old witch himself. “Let’s head back upstairs and get some work done before the whole day is gone.”
They arrived at the elevators together, slipping in just as the door opened, not realizing Vivian had joined them until they turned back to face the closing door. Damn it. Would this day never end?
“Since I realize a written report is a bit too much to expect from you, Sloan, why don’t you bring me up-to-date on where we stand at the moment?” she said.
Not seeing the point of haggling, Sloan gave her a quick rundown of the current budget and status on the design work. By the time he finished, they were in the upper hallway and Ziara was eyeing the door leading toward their office—and away from Vivian—with desperate yearning. Sloan couldn’t blame her. Vivian’s shoulders tightened the longer Sloan spoke, even though he presented the facts in a clear, dry manner. Any minute now she was gonna blow her top.
“And when are you planning to show me the designs for the...lingerie?” Vivian asked, making the word sound like trash to be picked up from the side of the road. Ah, here it came. “Or were you planning on surprising me, just as you did with Patrick?”
“I didn’t realize you expected me to run every idea by you, especially since your approval isn’t necessary,” Sloan replied.
Ziara pressed her lips together, her tension palpable. This did have all the makings of a pissing match and for once he’d rather be anywhere else. Like in Ziara’s cozy, colorful bedroom.
“I simply think that running things by me would show a little decency, since I am still the majority owner of this establishment.”
Sloan kept it short, but not sweet. “Decency isn’t part of our agreement.”
“You mean not a part of your agreement—or hers, I’m learning.”
“That’s enough, Vivian.”
She chose to ignore Sloan’s warning, turning the full force of her ire on Ziara. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye out on him, keeping me informed.”
“I did,” Ziara said with quiet dignity, though Sloan read unease in her carefully guarded expression.
“About everything?”
“Ziara is doing what she thinks is right for this company,” Sloan interrupted. “She loves Eternity Designs and wants to see it regain its rightful place in the market, just as I do.”
Vivian shot another glare over Sloan’s shoulder, so palpable it probably burned Ziara’s skin. “What’s best for Eternity isn’t her decision to make. It’s mine.”
“Typical of you, Vivian. Last I remember, your decisions ran this place into the ground.” Sloan’s voice was laced with so much venom he was surprised any of them were left standing. Years of resentment and loneliness surged inside him, anger over losing his father breaking through the surface. “Drop it. Ziara’s doing a damn good job bringing this show to life. She can’t do that and be at your beck and call all the time. Or don’t you remember how much work that really is?”
If anything, Vivian’s gaze turned positively glacial. “What I remember is all the work I’ve put into keeping this company afloat. Your father’s dream has kept me going since his death.”
“And you’ve shut me out,” Sloan fought back. He was in rare form today. “But that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“I did what I thought was best, what your father would have wanted.”
Sloan stalked closer, the carpeting muffling his steps. “If Father wanted me out, why would he have bothered leaving me forty percent?”
“How would it have looked if he’d left his son with nothing?”
“You know, Vivian,” he said, “I don’t think he cared about how things looked nearly as much as you do.”